A Woman's Scorn

"Alright! That was a beauty!"

Dr. Sandra Teliovich looked up from her steaming bowl of soup and scowled at the back of the man hunched over at the lounge’s telescope. The man’s jumpsuit was filthy; grease stains on the cuffs, an oil smear down one sleeve and long, greasy hair tied back in a loose ponytail. He always carried with him an air of loafing, far too laid back, foreign and disconcerting to the more professional stance exhibited by the research station’s other employees. Of course the man wasn’t ISAT-trained, merely a technical volunteer. That fact alone set him lower in her estimation.

"Wow! Huh-hoah! I’ve never seen anything like that before."

"Fiss!" she asked curtly, unable to bear his exuberant outbursts any longer. "Why are you here?"

"Huh?" Iomata Fiss barely looked up from the telescope’s monitor to respond to the voice.

"I asked why you’re here."

"Because," he responded slowly as he focused the telescope at a different angle, "this storm is coming in from the west and this telescope offers the best view."

"That’s not what I meant. Why are you here, on the station?"

Fiss straightened and turned to face her. "What do you mean? I’m your primary technician."

Dr. Teliovich became frustrated with the conversation itself. This man acted as if he belonged there. Testily, she said, "You’re one of three technicians. But you don’t fit in here."

"What, I didn’t fix the coffee maker fast enough for you?" he quipped.

"I mean, you’re not qualified to be on a research station."

Iomata narrowed his eyes but held his anger in check. "I have news for you, commander. If I wasn’t here, this station would’ve fallen apart a long time ago. None of these scientists know the difference between a screwdriver and a hammer. And the other two technicians are more mechanics, trained to repair the research vehicles more than any part of this station. So much for higher education."

"How did you ever get on board in the first place? You’re insolent, slovenly, loud and obnoxious!"

Iomata shrugged and turned back to the telescope. "I volunteered."

Sandra shook her head in anger and amazement, a gesture he obviously did not see. That omission stirred her to further anger. "That proves it. You’re insane." Iomata didn’t hear her over his own excited shouts. "And stop that savage hollering! Its just an electrical storm. We get a lot of them here on Venus, you know."

Iomata spun around. "Just a storm?! Lady, you’re the one’s insane! There’s never been a storm this severe on earth. Never!! Jupiter may have the record on the daddy of all storms, but there’s no place to view them from the ground like this!"

"And that’s why you volunteered for duty here? To view storms?"

Iomata grinned broadly. "Yeah."

Dr. Teliovich had enough of such useless conversation. She had meant to talk to the man before this concerning his eligibility to remain on the station and this short bout had helped her to finalize her decision. She stood up to leave. "Mr. Fiss, you may be our only qualified station tech for now, but that will change. I will only allow people on this station who will contribute to the scientific goals of this project. No loafing; no freeloaders. Be advised that I will be submitting a request for a replacement tech, one who also holds a valid, scientific background and who can be useful around here twenty-four hours a day, not just six or seven! Until that replacement arrives, I expect you to refrain from wasting time watching storms and invest all of your efforts in maintaining this station."

"You can’t replace me for another month! And that’s if another inversion arises to allow a low-gain signal up to the satellite!"

"I am well aware of the limitations ahead of me, I assure you."

"And just because I don’t hold a doctoral degree doesn’t mean I’m a useless piece of baggage! I’ve been doing independent study in meteorology for the past three years, and I’ve found time to help doctors Laurelsen and Merek on their study of weather patterns! That should show to you that I’m not wasting my time here."

"Still, I’ve made my decision."

"You just can’t get rid of me! I volunteered for the full eighteen months. I signed a contract!"

"And as commanding officer, I am deeming that contract broken. You have spent far too much time in idleness in every single lounge of this station! You agreed to work, not to loaf!"

"I’ll petition a re-evaluation by my peers!"

"And I will listen attentively to such a re-evaluation, but my mind is set. The voiding of your contract will be sent at the next possible inversion. I suggest you gather your things and be sure that this station is running smoothly for the remainder of your stay so that you do not forfeit your pay." Dr. Teliovich spun on her heel and left the lounge quickly before he could respond.

"Dragon lady," muttered Iomata under his breath at her retreating back. How could someone maintain such a cold heart on Venus? She must not get out much on surface expeditions, because he was certain that if she did she’d melt! Pressure suit or no.

More subdued, he turned again to the waiting telescope and briefly watched the storm, but he couldn’t forget the confrontation. He finally tore himself away from the monitor, switched off the telescope, and crossed the room to plop heavily down into a lounge seat. He swung the seat’s personal terminal to his lap and called up his personal files from the station’s network. How dare she imply that he was not contributing to the station’s goals!

The screen went black for a moment, then flashed brilliantly and froze on the image of a multi-forked, multi-colored lightning bolt. His name, the date it was taken and the place glowed softly in the bottom-right corner of the screen. The text was a sickly yellow on a electrically-illuminated backdrop of violet rock and gleaming obsidian. It had been his very first picture of a Venusian lightning strike. In fact, it was the first ever photographed image of a ground strike on another planet, and it had made him a meager but encouraging sum of money. His bachelor’s degree minor in photography had finally begun to pay for itself.

Iomata hit a key and the image dissolved to be replaced quickly by a second. This was of a bolt that arced gracefully, in a smooth, nearly-rounded arc, that jumped from one cloud to another. It flared with a beautiful blue-white heat. Dr. Teliovich may not respect his passion for storm watching, but Dr. Merek had encouraged it, saying that his photos were a valuable asset to the study of the atmosphere and weather. He cycled through a dozen or so more images, only a fraction of his total library, and allowed them to soothe his nerves. But in the end, he couldn’t stop thinking about the "Dragon lady" and her determination to terminate his contract.

A sense of loss grew in his heart, a coldness that built in his chest and seeped down into his limbs. This library of images was the most outstanding achievement of his life! He had been raised to appreciate the raw power and sheer beauty of a thunderstorm, and had taught himself how to photograph lightning. And he had already made money at it, too.

Ten years ago, Dr. Mustafa Abn Dukaris had taken the first photos of lightning in Venus’ banded cloud layers from a safe orbit and had made a name for himself. Three years ago, the first exploratory ground crew to Venus had done the same thing. But none had thought to take so many or as detailed a study of lightning from the surface. It was his idea and initiative to attach cameras to the research station’s various lounge telescopes. The "Dragon lady" probably thought them a waste of time, if she even knew of them. That he sincerely doubted. He wasn’t contributing anything, eh?

Now, he was about to lose it all, and there were so many photos left to take! There were several things he still wanted to do, so many ambitious photos he wanted to attempt. Iomata regretfully closed his image library and shut down the terminal link. Glumly, he stood and left the lounge. There was a fluctuating power signal in corridor four, second floor. It wasn’t anything serious, but there was no need to let it go and give Dr. Teliovich added fuel for her personal vendetta against him. He turned down the lights and let the door slide shut behind him.

His petition for re-evaluation did him no good. Doctors Merek and Laurelsen, along with several others among the station’s crew, submitted written testimony on his behalf and all had good things to say about his behavior and value to the mission. But Dr. Teliovich had already made up her mind and the petition was effectively ignored. She had actually sent in a request to terminate his contract before the petition’s completion on the basis that it was unknown as to when the next inversion would allow communication. It was a deliberate breach of protocol, but then she was the commander and was nearly untouchable so far as Iomata’s meager influence was concerned. He had sent his own reports during the same inversion, but had little hope of finding a receptive ear among the agency’s bureaucrats.

Outwardly, he accepted the turn of events gracefully, even stoically with a mere shrug of his shoulders and a joke or two. Inwardly, and in private, he seethed with anger and resentment. He had experienced a brush with internal politics and had lost. Not only would he lose the opportunity to continue to study lightning on Venus, but the poor marks given him by Dr. Teliovich would remain on his permanent employment record. What was worse, she was well respected among many circles in and out of the space agency. Any way he looked at it, Iomata saw a difficult road toward future employment. Things looked awfully bleak.

Lying on his bunk in the room he shared with two others, Iomata crossed off another day on a calendar with a big red ‘x’. Two weeks had passed since his re-evaluation and five more were left before the return craft came to take him away. And despite the "Dragon Lady’s" belief that he loafed far too much, there really wasn’t much in the way of repairs that needed his immediate attention.

Two days after his re-evaluation by peers the station’s commander effectively ended his career by denying him exploratory privileges on the surface. That order also prevented him from leaving the inner dome, thus stopping him from carrying out his repair duties on the outer domes. He argued. He petitioned. All to no avail. She was simply not interested in someone of his low caliber. As she put it, "this is primarily a geologic mission and a study of sustained existence on the Venusian surface. Meteorology and "lightning studies" are simply unnecessary." That didn’t go over well with Dr. Merek or Laurelsen, but she didn’t much care anyhow. She was the commander. So he hermitted himself in his quarters whenever possible, sneaking out only rarely to take a few more photos during storms, and read his small cache of book-discs.

But he wasn’t giving in so easily. If she wanted to relieve him of his responsibilities then he’d make the most of his free time. He didn’t have to be in any of the lounges to operate his cameras. All he had to do was write a simple sub-routine and let the computers direct the telescopes to the best storms and snap the photos. With all of this free time, he could leisurely cycle through the images and keep only the best.

And he decided to carry off that one-of-a-kind stunt that one would never dream of actually doing, like going over Niagra falls in a barrel. But there was no way he was going to leave the planet without making the most of the opportunity. Besides, with the poor review by Dr. Teliovich, he was certain not to receive such a good research assignment for a long, long time.

He actually loved being on Venus, being in the station and taking his photos. It may seem strange to Dr. Teliovich that he could love the barren, hot rock and the thick, continual cloud cover, but that’s what set them apart from each other. He found the inhospitableness of the surface beautiful even though it frightened him at the same time. It was difficult to describe in words. Just like his love of storms. To Iomata, the storm was the ultimate expression of nature, a forceful reminder of nature’s brute force and ultimate superiority over man. And here on Venus, it reminded him of the power and the vast extent of the first cataclysmic moments of the creation of the universe.

One of the books he had brought along was a compilation of several biographies, one of those being the life of John Muir, the preservationist and first president of the Sierra Club. He kept thinking of the story, whether true or not, of Muir having his friends tie him in the upmost boughs of a tree so that he could experience the full fury of a Western storm. It evoked a longing within Iomata to do the same. He wondered if Muir would have been so willing to attempt the same feat were he on Venus. There was a minicam stashed away in a recess of the secondary dome, something he had placed there long ago when the sheer audacity and bravado of following Muir’s challenge had briefly overwhelmed his common sense. Once again that common sense waned.

But how to get outside when he was denied surface privileges? He had wrestled with the question for several days, but now he just might have the answer. She said that he could not leave the dome because the voiding of his contract effectively made him a civilian visitor and she would not risk facing the consequences of seeing harm come to a non-member of the crew. It was a line of bureaucratic bull that seemed to spew quickly and easily from her warped mind. Dr. Teliovich thought she had won. She was wrong.

Iomata sat down at his personal terminal and called up Dr. Merek’s weather forecasts for the next two weeks. Since the station’s presence on the upper plateaus region of Maxwell Montes, a noticeable "weather" pattern had been identified with concentrations of wind, traces of acidic moisture and well-defined fronts with periodic electrical activity. Dr. Merek had set up several meters around the station and at several different heights on the mountain to monitor such a pattern and had developed a program that would track such conditions over a topographical map of the Montes region and compare infrequent data received from two different satellites. Iomata scanned the latest reports and predictions until he found three possible storms. The best, of course, was only a day away. The next confident storm prediction had a likelihood of thirty-five percent in three to four days and the third had only a fifteen percent chance of striking in a week’s time. However, the last also had a possibility of developing into one major storm front!

Iomata next turned to the duty rosters for the same period. He knew there were several surface excursions planned to traverse the lower slopes of Maxwell Montes, and on such trips it was procedure to take along one of the techs. Such a trip could conceivably take two or three days. The large, pressurized all-terrain CATs could serve double-duty as mobile research units. What he needed was to determine just when that exploration would be made and then figure out how to circumvent the second tech.

Aha! The next excursion was scheduled to leave in five days and be away from the station for about three days. The goal was to find a good pathway down to the Ishtar Planum and examine geologic features in the meantime in hopes of determining just how active the planet’s crust and volcanism really was. Good. Most of the crew would be on that trip, including the ‘Dragon Lady.’ It would be easy to slip out and perform his stunt without too much opposition. And Dr. Teliovich wouldn’t be able to do a thing until she returned from the expedition. The only variable was the weather pattern. A storm may not materialize at all and that would mean his wild stunt would only be a waste of time. But he had to take a chance.

Dr. Teliovich had decided not to join the expedition to the lower slopes because there was too much ‘work’ to be done at the station. He was starting to feel paranoid, as if she didn’t trust him or knew what he was planning. The woman was his own personal demon! In two days, the storm he had been waiting for would arrive--or so he hoped. Of the last two storms predicted, the first had been nothing more than a whimper and the second had not materialized at all. He might still have an opportunity in the next few weeks, but the chances of slipping out during a storm decreased dramatically the closer the due date for his return flight drew closer. Besides, he was growing restless.

But then he hatched a plan. Now Iomata stood before the door to the commander’s office. "Come in," she called over the intercom. He threw back his shoulders in preparation for a battle and opened the sealing hatch. Dr. Teliovich sat at her desk busily poring over geologic stratigraphic maps. She barely looked up as he entered and then sighed in exasperation when she recognized him. "What do you want, Fiss?"

Iomata stepped up to her desk and dropped the printout of the station’s pressure checks in front of her. "There’s a problem with the secondary dome," he said perfunctorily.

Dr. Teliovich looked up at him for a moment, then picked up the printout. "What sort of problem?"

"Measurements indicate trace amounts of sulfur and other minerals indicating a burn-through in the dome."

"A burn-through? In which section is this located?" Her eyes scanned the report in more depth as he talked. Any problem with the secondary dome could mean an implosion and the subsequent crushing of the primary dome, or station.

"Section seven-‘A’, just above the pump house." The pump house held the machinery which kept the pressure in the secondary dome at a steady twenty-five atmospheres.

"Wait a minute, section seven -‘A’? Didn’t you come to me with a similar report last month?"

Iomata’s shoulders tensed. He hoped it wasn’t noticeable. Don’t blow it, Fiss, he thought to himself. Just be cool. "Yeah, I did. But I guess the patch didn’t hold up so well."

Dr. Teliovich pushed the printout back toward him and returned to the maps in front of her. "Send the AI bots out again."

Iomata cleared his throat and took his chance. "Uh, listen, Commander, I was wondering if I could oversee the patching myself."

"Out of the question. You’re a visitor, now, Fiss. The risk is too great."

"But if I’m out there when the repairs are made—"

"I will not allow it! Now let the matter drop, Fiss!"

"—I can make sure that all the sulfuric acid is wiped up. Oh, come on! This problem wouldn’t have come up again if I—someone had been out there the first time to be sure the robots did the job right."

"The answer is no, Fiss! That’s final."

Iomata threw his hands in the air. "Fine! You win, Commander. I give up."

Dr. Teliovich looked up. "Win? Just exactly what do you mean by that? Look, Fiss, I am not in a contest of wills with you."

"Well, you could have fooled me!"

Sandra stood up and leaned over her desk. "This is why you don’t belong here! You are too damn insolent! I gave you a direct order as the commanding officer and you still insist on getting your way."

"My way!? You have more or less ruined any chance I might have of finding gainful employment after leaving this station. Ever since you got here, you’ve tried to get rid of me. First you send off my termination papers, then you ignore my re-evaluation-by-peer and take away my authorizations to pressure suits that leaves me unable to carry out half of my duties around here! Who’s getting their way?"

"That’s not my problem."

"Yeah, well, this burn-through certainly is. You may not have much of a command if this repair isn’t done right." Iomata ran long fingers through his hair in a motion indicating his effort toward self control. He took a deep breath and let it out slowly. "Okay. Fine. All I’m asking is that you let me have this one small concession so that I can keep my paycheck when I leave here. Let me go out and make sure the repairs are done correctly and I promise, I won’t bother you ever again. I’ll dismantle my cameras and stay out of your way for the rest of my stay. What do you say to that?"

"I am not going to make a deal with you, Fiss. What I say goes."

"I’m just asking to be allowed to do my job!"

"Fiss—!" Sandra Teliovich literally growled and slapped the tabletop with the palm of her hand. She picked up the printout once more and read it again. Her brow furrowed deeper than Iomata had ever seen it do before. He could tell she was struggling with herself.

"Really, Commander, it wouldn’t take very long to—"

"Fiss," she said without looking up from the paper, "if you open your mouth once more, I swear I’ll put you out that airlock without a suit myself!" He shut up and let her read the whole report. She spent nearly five minutes checking and re-checking the pressure readings and atmospheric ‘sniffer’ data, all the while ignoring his presence. When she looked up at him, the expression on her face reminded Iomata of someone who had just bit into a ripe lemon. Her scowl was contorted and her lips puckered as if the very taste of what she was about to say made her sick as they rolled from her tongue.

"All right, Fiss. I’ll give you authorization to oversee the repairs. But this is not a concession to your constant badgering. The station could be in real trouble if this isn’t handled right. You are to report back to your quarters as soon as the repairs are completed. Understand?"

"Perfectly." He hoped she could not see the intense relief he felt wash over him then. She pulled up her personal monitor and keyboard and punched in his authorization code, then handed the numbers to him on a piece of paper. "These are temporary. Don’t try to use them after today or you can kiss your back pay goodbye." Giving a mock salute, he took the slip of paper, turned and began to leave her office.

"Fiss."

He didn’t turn around, anxiety evident on his face at the fear of her seeing through his ruse. "What?"

"I want those cameras dismantled, too. That’s part of my reasoning for terminating your contract. We’re not up here to make a profit, but to do some serious research."

"Oh, really? You could have fooled me."

"And what the hell is that supposed to mean?"

"Nothing. Just that, well, I wonder how much I.P. Solar is paying you on the side for your research into mineral deposits. They could quickly gain a monopoly on some of the richest energy resources here with a scientist staking a claim for them. Just like on Mars."

"Is that an accusation?" She unthinkingly reached out and handled the trademark pen from the company that sat on her desk.

He shrugged. "No. Just making idle talk."

"Get out of here, Fiss. Get out of my office, do your job and don’t let me see your sorry face again until you’re climbing on that shuttle to go home. Do you hear me?"

Iomata grinned wickedly at having touched a nerve with the commander. "Perfectly."

As he was about to close the door, though, she spoke up again. "I’m surprised, Fiss. You’re going to miss quite a storm while you’re out there."

He shrugged his shoulders. "Oh, well," he said. "You win some, you lose some. After all, a storm’s like any other storm, right?" He wondered if she remembered her own words as he closed the door behind him and walked hurriedly down to the airlock. She hadn’t been too happy at not being able to disturb him with that last comment as he had her with his.

He had been lucky. That report was a copy of the one he had handed in last month, though he had made a few modifications to it to make it appear like a faulty patch. Still, if she had really been paying attention at all, she would have noticed the inconsistencies. But he wasn’t about to look a gift horse in the mouth. It had worked and that’s all he needed to know.

Outside, the wind gusts had picked up to about thirty miles per hour. That wasn’t unusual; recorded surface winds down on the lower plains were about that strong. However, up here on the slopes of the highest mountain on the planet, winds had been recorded at well over fifty-six miles per hour. The increase in wind speed was the best indication of a building storm, but not the most reliable. Iomata Fiss paused at the outdoor monitor console near the airlock to review weather conditions outside before climbing into the heavy pressure suit and he liked what he saw. Electric discharges had been recorded not more than twelve miles away. What’s more, the rate of discharge was increasing as the storm drew nearer. It had been a good decision to wait for this particular storm.

He turned off the monitor and stepped through into the airlock. The authorization code was to activate the suit, but it would also open and close the air locks for him. That was the necessity that drove him to take such a desperate measure as doctoring status reports. He approached the line of monstrous pressure suits that stood like suits of armor along the north wall of the airlock. They were nothing like the space suits worn by astronauts in outer space; advances in technology had allowed for less-bulky and more flexible suits there. No, these were heavy, bulky contraptions that severely limited mobility and maneuverability.

He stepped up to the nearest suit and carefully climbed through the access in the back after punching in the code. Metal joints protected the weakest points while composite fabrics in several layers covered the rest of the body. Iomata ducked under the collar and raised his head into the large round helmet. Slipping his arms down into those of the suit, his hands found the controls at the end of the sleeves that operated the entire outfit. A passive voice-activated sensor in the helm responded to his command to seal the suit behind him.

A brief moment of panic swept over him as he heard and felt the seals close. What if the "Dragon Lady" had discovered his lie and had canceled the authorization? But no, if that had happened, the suit wouldn’t have sealed. Right? The stale air in the suit enveloped him, like the suit itself, smothering him ever so briefly before the compact fans and scrubbers kicked in to add fresh air and recycle the old. Iomata breathed a sigh of relief and disconnected from the station’s power supply. Only when he was outside the primary dome with the airlock sealed behind him did he breathe normally again. He still had two more air locks to go, but if Teliovich hadn’t grown suspicious as of yet, then it was likely he wouldn’t have any more trouble--until he tried to get back inside. But that would have to wait.

The reddish-black dust of Venus that rose up through the grated flooring clung to his boots and climbed up his legs like iron shards attracted to a magnet. And, in fact, there was some truth to that analogy. The soil was rather magnetic. It had wreaked havoc on the machinery of the first scientists who had established the research station, but such properties were only minor nuisances now. As he walked to where he had the minicam stashed, sensors monitored his passage and turned on several "sprinklers" that sent a fine spray over his feet and the ground ahead of him to minimize the dust.

Five stories above him was the ceiling of the secondary dome. Struts and supports cris-crossed in intricate patterns to hold back the incessant pressure that resided beyond the metalyce walls. Where he was now, the air pressed down on him at some twenty-five atmospheres. When he stepped out into the tertiary dome, that pressure would nearly double. A holo appeared in the upper-right hand corner of his faceplate to announce the proximity of a repair bot. Its six legs were retracted to allow an equal number of wheels to propel it over the grating. Cameras would record his passing, but it was following a preset program and would not pay undue attention to his presence or course.

There was no interference at the second airlock and before he knew it, he found himself standing in the outer door of the tertiary dome, gazing out onto hell. Well, one version of it, anyway. There was no endlessly burning pit of fire or smell of sulfur or brimstone, but his imagination did conjure such an aroma briefly. Ahead of him stretched a jagged plain of volcanic rock, rough and weathered black rock that looked more like a gravel pit than an alien world. The gale force winds now blowing picked up great amounts of dust and threw it high into the air, where it heightened the reddish glow of daylight that penetrated the thick bands of cloud that shrouded Venus’ surface from space. To him it was the most beautiful sight he had ever seen.

A three meter high berm surrounded the base of the tertiary dome, the sloping walls protecting him from the full force of the sixty-five mile per hour winds. With measured steps, Iomata slowly left the airlock and allowed it to seal behind him. This was it. He was about to make history by deliberately walking into the teeth of a storm on another world. His heart began to beat faster, his breath fogging the faceplate before the suit could compensate for the increased metabolic rate, and his steps grew smaller.

It was absurd to turn chicken now. What was causing the hesitancy? Fear? Did he really fear for his life? Then a tremendous bolt of lightning struck the mountainside before him. The flash was blinding. His eyes ached and burned from the flash, and Iomata could only stand still and blink incessantly in hopes of ridding his senses of the blue-white lights that danced and swirled behind his closed lids. He hoped his eyes were closed. While he struggled to regain his eyesight, the thunderclap resounded off of the mountain’s slope. It felt as if the ground shook underneath him. His ears rang from the blast. The suit’s external mikes weren’t even turned on, yet, but the helmet merely lowered the clap a mere decibel.

Slowly, his sense of sight and hearing came back to him and he stepped recklessly forward into the open. What was it like for Muir when tied to that tree? Would that he was here with him, now, to witness the raw power and majesty of Nature on another world. How his poet’s soul would break out into exalted lays! Iomata reverently faced the oncoming storm as he attached the camera to his helmet and began recording.

Pressure suits were bulky things, weighing well over one hundred pounds in a gravity well less that of Earth’s. But the internal powered frame lessened that burden to something on the order of sixty pounds for the occupant. Even with its vast weight alleviated by the motorized joints, once beyond the protective berm, he found it difficult to walk into the increasing winds. If he wasn’t careful, the gusts might even push him over. But it was worth the risk as he began to film some of the most amazing ground strikes ever!

There were multi-forked bolts that seared acres of ground simultaneously. Sheet lightning that would ripple through the clouds like a wave, and circular sheets that flashed and were gone with barely a whimper. Then there was the ball lightning. Every ground strike sent up ball lightning. The globes of plasma would shoot up from the point of impact and spin off in all directions. He followed one red ball as it danced up the mountain’s flank until it was lost in the distance, each time it struck the ground, sparks would fly as if it were metal striking metal.

It was beautiful, yet at the same time he had to fight a growing sense of unease that settled at the back of his mind and would not disappear. Something about the lightning and the storm’s strength was bothering him, but he could not find the words to describe his concern.

Iomata walked farther from the station and turned around to photograph it and the storm against the background of the mountain. He was rewarded with a magnificent, multi-forked bolt that struck the mountain slope and raised a shimmering blue halo that surrounded the station and lit up the mountain in a glorious blaze. Ridges and cliffs were bathed in a fantastic light as if sunlight was somehow able to suddenly pierce the obstinate cloud cover. He judged that he could see a half-mile clearly up the mountainside. It looked so different in the blue-white light, so much like a mountain on Earth without its usual bath of blood-red light. He also caught several streamers rising up from the ground and even the station itself. Unlike on Earth, where the streamers were practically invisible to the naked eye due to their speed, these were thick and brilliant. It was something he had not noticed before in his other photos.

The ground beneath his feet swayed violently from the blast. "That’ll sell for a pretty penny. Wow!" He began a circuit of the station, a mile long loop that would hopefully give him even better photos and vantage points. The going was slow in the suit. Luckily the plateau on which the station sat had been blasted level and smoothed. Still, he nearly stumbled on a rock no more than a few inches in diameter and height.

Iomata turned around to catch the storm as it rose up the slope from the Ishtar Planum below. The flash caught him by surprise and blinded him, and the roar at such proximity deafened him as it reverberated inside the helmet and made his bones ache. With a startled gasp, he saw the glowing ball of plasma seconds before it rammed into his chest, throwing him back a couple of feet and dropping him heavily onto his back.

No movement possible. No electricity! No air!!!

He panicked. Iomata struggled against the leviathan suit that held him pinned to the ground. The arms would not move. They wouldn't even bend at the elbow or rotate at the shoulder. Iomata tried the emergency power up function three times with growing desperation. If he couldn't move his arms, then he couldn't reach the large red reset fuse on the right breast. Without that simple move, he couldn't reset the scrubbers or the air supply.

And the air in the suit quickly began to grow warmer and more stale. He smelled his own fear as the sweat ran down into his eyes and down his neck. His back hurt from the fall and the spread-eagled position he was in.

"Help!!! Somebody, please!! Help!! Fiss to base. Fiss to base!! Why won’t anybody answer me? Please!!! Oh come on, s-somebody’s gotta be able to hear me." But with the suit effectively turned off, the radio would not work.

He screamed when another bolt struck the station’s lightning rod, lighting up his faceplate and blinding him momentarily again. Ball lightning and crazed spots danced wildly before his eyes as he tried to regain his sight. His chest was beginning to feel tight. His mouth was so dry! Maybe the fall had punctured the suit? Poisonous air could be seeping in to replace the last remaining good. The suit could implode. But there was no way to roll over and examine the suit. He struggled some more until he began to feel light-headed and finally lay still. It would be better to suffocate rather than be squeezed to death by the relentless pressure outside. His eyesight was already growing dim....

It turned out to be one of the biggest electrical storms to hit the area since the station’s existence. Lightning flashed almost constantly, and countless ground strikes were recorded on or very near to the Perellandra plateau and station. A cool gust of air caressed Iomata’s cheek. It soon spread to bathe his entire face with its reviving touch. Sweat cooled on his brow and the sudden hum of the scrubbers and respirators brought a delighted grin to his face. He laughed, weakly at first, until it gained in strength to become near-hysterical cackling. A ball of lightning flew over his prone body, cutting the cackle short.

He still could not move. The strike had shorted out most of the suit’s systems except the backup life support, whose small, insulated battery had graciously survived. His voice sounded small and weak in the close confines of the helmet, but the radio still did not work.

"Great going, Fiss. Way to sneak out of the station. Now you’re going to probably die out here because nobody knows where to FREAKING FIND YOU!" He tried once again to lift an arm or leg and failed. "Well, at least the storm is finally dying down." But he couldn’t help but feel some excitement of having survived--for the time being--an electrical storm on another world! He glanced up toward the upper left of his faceplate and saw a steady green light from the mounted camera. "At least I’ve recorded the whole thing. Too bad I won’t be able to enjoy the royalties." A sudden up welling of fear sent him into another fitful struggle against the unresponsive limbs of the pressure suit. "Nooooo!!!!" He kicked against the useless internal frame and raved until his throat burned and his legs grew tired. Quiet and still once again, he let his gaze sweep the forever-clouds above. They were decidedly higher than before and tinged with the familiar reddish hue of a calm Venusian day.

The storm had finally passed. Iomata cried.

He couldn’t keep himself from shaking as the shuttle rocketed through the many cloud layers heading for the orbiting transport. The thought of how fragile the spacecraft was, like the pressure suit he had been trapped in on the surface, was too strong to force to the back of his mind. A heavy tap on his shoulder drew his attention to the shuttle’s captain, who drew his attention to the communications screen. Dr. Teliovich glared back at him.

Iomata considered not tuning in to the radio’s bandwidth, but did so anyway. What could she say? Whatever it was, it couldn’t be much more than what she had berated him with for two days following the storm. He had been grateful for the confinement to quarters she slapped on him for the remaining four weeks while waiting for the ride earthward. The more distance between them the better for him. The image on the screen was grainy and wavered as the ship continued to climb through the thick atmosphere. But the "Dragon Lady’s" voice was clear over the background static.

"Fiss, can you hear me?"

"Sure can, Dr. Teliovich. Couldn’t stand to see me go without wishing me goodbye?"

"More like good riddance, Fiss. Do you know what your little shenanigan has cost me? I should sue you for ruining my career!"

"Gee, sorry to hear that. Unfortunately, my "little shenanigan" as you call it has already cost me my back pay, so you wouldn’t get much out of me." He wasn’t about to mention to her the offer he had already received from his agent for the rights to the filming of his stormy experience. He was also promised that still photos, especially of the ball of lightning taken seconds before it struck him, would soon be in high demand. His trip would actually pay for itself a couple times over. "Is that why you called, to say you’re going to sue me?"

Dr. Teliovich gave him a very unlady-like gesture. "I wanted to do that, and make sure you were out of my hair for good!" The screen went blank as communication was terminated.

"Boy," said the pilot with a shrug (something very difficult to do while accelerating to orbital speed), "she sure doesn’t have a soft spot for you."

Iomata grinned, then chuckled, which broke into a hearty laugh as he felt the last vestiges of the "Dragon Lady’s" presence leave him for good. The other man looked at him strangely but said nothing more. Resistance suddenly gave way as the ship left the atmosphere. Iomata turned around to stare out the small window at the bland, shrouded planet now beneath them. Maybe he was crazy. His little stunt did almost cost him his life. Luckily the others had noticed his absence and had found him before the backup battery had quit. Still, he felt a longing to be back on that hellish surface.

Venus. The goddess of love and beauty. He would add rage. Like some Greek hero who had sneaked a peek at the goddess bathing, she had unleashed her fury on him and he was now forever a changed man. There were two women down there that didn’t "have a soft spot" for him, and he had suffered the fury of both of them and had survived. One he could gladly leave behind, but strangely the planet would forever have a place in his heart.

Copyright 1997 Jody Speight

In his own words: Like Iomata Fiss, I love to watch electrical storms! The raw energy exhibited in the brilliant flashes of light and sound is simply awe-inspiring, like seeing the last vestiges of the power of the earth's creation! Jody serves as an associate editor of Titan and hopes to submit more works for publication.

You can e-mail Jody sp8xpres@uswest.net